


Fat Black

by sumomomochi



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, Genderswap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-13
Updated: 2011-11-13
Packaged: 2017-10-26 00:48:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/276713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sumomomochi/pseuds/sumomomochi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a kinkmeme prompt; Fem!Tav is chubby, Man!Vriska is a HUGE 8ITCH, cue sexytiems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fat Black

**Author's Note:**

> Original kinkmeme thread : http://homesmut.livejournal.com/11448.html?thread=19847352#t19847352

You've never been a very good troll. You're just too nice. You don't like fighting, whether you're included in the punch throwing or not, and you end up accidentally auspitizing between your friends far too often. You don't even look like a proper troll. Sure, you're on the far end of the feminine, but you've never come across a troll with as much... curve as you. As Gamzee puts it, you've got some motherfucking junk all up in your miraculous motherfucking trunk.

It didn't use to bother you. You spent ages and ages stuck in your four wheeled device so it's no wonder your rump gathered some cushion, even as your legs atrophied. And then, when Karkat and Feferi double teamed Equius, bulling him into building your robotic prosthetics, you had to deal with the weight of them. Your hips and thighs are wide, and you're pretty sure your chesticular glands are as large as they are in order to balance you out, but sandwiched between is narrow waist. You're not _fat_ at all, no matter what that, that mean faced Vriska says. You just have lots of muscle wrapped in a healthy layer of pudge.

But every time you went to see your friends, if Vriska was there, he'd say nasty things to you, like : "Your thighs just keep getting bigger and bigger, don't they. You're overflowing the tops of your legs."

Or : "Jegus, those things aren't meant to carry such a fat load like you."

Or : "What do you have stuffed in your shirt? Rations for the next week?"

Or sometimes : "I don't know why Fef doesn't just carve off a bit of you to feed to her lusus. Just a slab off your fat ass would feed Gl'Bgolyb for an entire bi-lunar perigee."

You always tug down the hem of your skirt and do your best to shrug his words off.

But eventually, you start wearing looser clothing, baggy pants and shirts that help hide your figure, even though sometimes your jeans will get stuck on the metal of your legs and you have to cut it out and your moirail always looks at you a little sad now because you're not nearly as motherfucking cute as you were in your skirts.

And Vriska's teasing doesn't stop.

In fact, it only gets worse until, one evening, you're absconding from a group gathering with copper tears in your eyes and somehow, somehow he manages to find you and corner you, your back against a wall and his hands on either side of head, just under your horns.

"Fat little Tavvy," he purrs, leaning down until you're nose to nose, "you can run but you can't hide. This big, bad woofbeast is gonna chase you down and chew on your fat, useless, oinkbeast's behind."

He snaps his teeth at you, black lips drawn wide in a condescending smirk as you do your damndest to melt into the wall behind you. Tears spill over your lashes, dripping down your cheeks, leaving streaks of brown down your face. A blue tinged tongue laps one trail away and your eyes squeeze shut of their own accord, teeth clamped tight together in a naive attempt to bite back your whimper.

"You're such a slut," he continues, murmuring the words straight into your auditory organ canal. You shiver as his breath caresses your skin in a far too intimate way. "You try to cover it up with these stupid clothes, but they just make it more obvious. Do you have any idea how much you shake your ass when you walk? Everything on you bounces every time you move. It's disgusting."

It takes you about a half a dozen tries to get the phrase, "I don't mean to," out, but Vriska already has his tongue tracing the edge of the external part of your auditory organ. You shiver and bite your lip and place your trembling hands on his chest in an attempt to push him away.

It doesn't work.

If anything, he moves closer to you, as if encouraged by your resistance. One of his thighs presses between yours, rocking hard against your reproductive organs. Whimpering, you push at him again, imploring that he please, _please_ stop this and let you go. He laughs, short and harsh and utterly cruel, and presses closer until your arms are trapped between you, your chest squashed tight against your wrists.

His pelvis grinds against yours again. You're dismayed to find that, even though you do not have any sort of concupiscent feeling for Vriska, his touch is having unfortunate side effects on your body. You whine, hang your head, and claw at his shirt all in quick succession.

"See," he murmurs, "You're so hot for me already, and I've barely touched you." The sound the blue blood makes in the back of his throat, one of smug pride, turns you copper from the tips of the cartilage protrusions making up the external portions of your auditory organs straight down through your chest. You feel your face burning and you're sure Vriska can feel the heat radiating off you.

His fingers feel far colder than they should when they grab your chin and tilt your face up to his. Copper blood spills down your chin as he bites through your lip. You whimper and squirm, trying to free your arms so you can maybe have some sort of chance of escaping. All you really manage to do is rub your hip against Vriska's bone bulge, which is very hard and very extended and kind of terrifyingly large. He groans against your lips, his flesh hand dropping down to grab at your plush rump. His claws pop holes into the fabric of your jeans, ripping through the frilly underthings you're rather fond of wearing. Part of you is dismayed at the damage to your clothes--this particular pair of bulge coverings is your favourite and while you might have been able to remove the stain from your juices, there's no way you'll be able to repair the four tears it now has. The other part of you gasps and tries to arch away from the sharp points of pain digging into your flesh, rolling up onto your toes in an effort to abscond as you feel the first drip of blood roll down the back of your thigh.

Vriska's tongue invades your mouth when you gasp, licking at your teeth. It's gross and slimy and you bite down without even thinking. The bloom of blue on your tongue is, ironically, rather satisfying, as is his hiss of surprised pain. He pulls back to sneer at you, a mix of blue and orangey-brown blood coating his lips and dripping down his chin. The observation that the two shades look nice together tickles the underside of your thinkpan, but he's given you enough room to fight back and you figuratively jump at the opportunity, shoving against his shoulders hard.

He stumbles back a step, surprise obvious in his raised brows and one wide, visible eye, if for just a split second. His expression shifts smoothly back into one of menacing lust and you shiver, just a little, as you hold your ground, shoulders stiff, fingers tight fists, and your head bowed to tilt your horns in threat.

"Leave me alone!" you demand. The hard confidence in your voice stuns you a little, and you hope to Troll Jegus that it doesn't show on your face. Vriska just laughs at you, his teeth dripping blue, before he's back on you, closer than before. You yelp as his thigh slams up between your legs, whimpering at the bruised flesh. You punch him in the ribs as hard as you can in retaliation, slamming the side of your fist against the boney cage encasing his stupid blue organs. He hardly flinches.

"I like it when you fight back." The words are soft. You wouldn't have heard them if they weren't hissed against your jaw, but they carry a level of threat that would have normally terrified you.

Instead, it just makes you angry.

You punch him again, harder, and this time you make him grunt in pain and twitch away from your fist. The movement causes a chain reaction, his thigh rubbing against your nook, a sharp hipbone pressing against your barely extended bulge. Your breath hitches and you grind against him without meaning to. He chuckles in turn, grabbing one of your horns to tug your head to the side. The metal of his prosthetic drags painfully against the appendage and you growl. He just bites you, sharp teeth puncturing the juncture between your shoulder and neck.

The two of you writhe against the wall, grinding together angrily while swapping blows back and forth. You, at some point, yank his head back by his hair and slam your forehead against his cartridge nub. The crunch it makes is amazingly satisfying. And a little arousing, you must admit.

He gets you back by ripping your shirt in half and dragging four lines of copper brown down your belly. You, in turn, shred the back of his own shirts, copying his move and doubling it.

And then, all of a sudden, it's all too much for you and you clutch at him, begging for a bucket before you burst.

"Why would a fat whore like you want a bucket?" He taunts in return, grinding into you harder. You shake and claw at him like he's the only thing keeping you from being swept away.

 _Please._

"Do you really want to stop humping my leg for a _bucket_ , Tavvy?"

 _Please._

"Or do you want me to watch as you squat over it and finish yourself off? Is that what you want, you flabby fuck?"

 _Please!_

"No. No, I don't think so. You're gonna cum just like this, and everyone will know what a filthy skank you are."

 _Oh, gog, please!_

"Everyone will know how bad you want my bulge."

 _Please, Vriska._

"Are you gonna cum for me? Huh, Tavvy, are you, you disgusting bucket of lard."

You bite down on your lip and whimper, your thighs squeezing together around Vriska's. Your insides tremble. You can't resist.

Genetic fluid pours out of you, soaking both your pants and Vriska's. You feel him smirk against your neck as you shake and moan, riding out your orgasm. You let out a shuddering sigh afterward. Barely a second later, you're dumped on your ass in the puddle of your own juices and he's walking away.

Your vision swims, tinted orange, and a sob bubbles up from your windtube.

What the fuck just happened?

\--

You're moirail finds you a short while later. As soon as Gamzee spots you, sniveling like a wriggler, he rushes over, his usual loping stride transforming into a worried dash. He drops to his knees in front of you, scooping you up in his arms. He rocks you back and forth, shooshing you. Eventually, you calm.

"What the motherfuck happened, my cute pale-sis?" he asks. You wibble and squeeze him tighter as you fight back another round of sobs. He cards his fingers through your disheveled 'hawk and plants a kiss on the top of your head. "It's okay, it's all motherfucking okay. Life's full of all these motherfucking miracles and shit, everything's gonna turn out." He stands, tugging you up with him. "C'mon, let's all up and get you clean."

You let him guide you to his respiteblock and into the ablution trap. He undresses the both of you, murmuring reassuring nonsense as he scrubs you down. Another round of tears runs down your face as he takes care of you. A long fingered hands cups one of your cheeks and he bunps his forehead against yours. His face paint is streaked and drippy, and it looks silly. You half laugh-half sob at that, giving your moirail a wobbly smile.

"You gonna be ok?" he asks.

You shrugs.

"Almost ready to all up and get your feelings on?"

Another shrug, a moment of trembling lips, and then a quiet, "Maybe."

You've calmed enough to dry off yourself, pulling on some of Gamzee's old clothes from when he, himself, was on the pudgy side. The shirt stretches over your chest well enough, although the pj pants are far tighter than you'd like.

The two of you don't talk. Instead, you chill in his horn pile, snuggled up together. The physical contact calms you, a complete U-turn from how angry you felt with Vriska.

By the time Gamzee escorts you to your own respiteblock for some motherfucking zee's, you're almost happy.

\---

A few days later, you burst into Gamzee's room, back in the pleated skirt your moirail likes on you so much. He's in the midst of applying his face for the day when you stomp in. He jumps, inadvertently smearing white across where it shouldn't be. He turns wide, purple flecked eyes towards you.

"Hey, man," he drawls, eyebrows knitting together, "What's got you all up in a motherfucking tizzy?"

You stomp one booted robo-foot and state, "I hate him." You're loud and fierce and quite possibly angrier than you've ever been. One of Gamzee's eyebrows quirks up, leaning against his vanity table.

"Yeah?"

"I do! I, I hate him, just so, so, so much!" You shove your bangs out of your face, scowling, "He just, just thinks he can do whatever he, uh, he f-fucking wants to me and it's, it's so stupid!" You fling your arms out in exasperation and start pacing. Your boots thump hard against the floor and you kick a horn angrily. It honks when introduced to the toe of your boot, and then again when it bounces off the wall. Gamzee chuckles a little behind you.

"He just, he thinks he can use and abuse me and make me sad and, and that I'm just gonna take it! Well, I'm not! The, the next time he pulls any of this stupid shit, I, I'm going to, uh, to rip off his stupid bulge and, and beat him with it! And call _him_ the bulge sucker, and, and... Ooh, I just hate him so much!"

You flop back into the horn pile, seething, and hardly flinch at the painfully loud squawk that results. Gamzee's just watching you, a wide, knowing grin splitting his face.

"I'm thinking it's motherfucking mutual, sis," he tells you with a shrug, "Sounds like you've got yourself a shiny, new motherfucking kismisetude."


End file.
